Bubbles from Heaven
by Starrylizard
Summary: Marcus tells Tomas a story. Set after the events of 2x3.


Title: Bubbles from Heaven

Author: Starrylizard

Fandom: The Exorcist (TV)

Rating: Gen, PG

Characters: Marcus , Tomas and an OMC

Word Count: ~1445

Summary: Marcus tells Tomas a story. Set after the events of 2x3.

Notes: No spoilers as I don't know any. Thank you to **leoraine** for encouragement and beta bits. Any mistakes are totally mine. Constructive criticism, comments, discussion all welcome.

After the events in Seattle with Harper and her mother, they left their details with Rose, and checked themselves into an apartment hotel. It was small and old, but also clean and homey. Tomas thought, in the scheme of places they'd slept in over the last six months, this might actually be his favourite.

He showered, single-use shower cap covering the new wound on his head to keep it dry like the doctor suggested. Now and again the room wobbled and his knees felt weak and only the close-pressed walls held him up. Concussion, the doctor had said. Tomas knew it could have been so much worse. It could have been so much worse in a lot of other ways too.

He must have been in the bathroom for too long, because when he emerged – steam chasing out from behind him into the main room – Marcus looked worried. Serious blue eyes followed his slow progress to the table in the kitchen.

Now that he'd showered, his adrenaline was all spent. His limbs felt like abstract objects made of rubber instead of flesh and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep.

"You alright? I made some food, plain rice… if you can stomach it," was all Marcus said.

He spoke quietly, like he knew exactly what it felt like to have pain bouncing around every part of your head all at once. Tomas thought sadly, that he probably did. Nevertheless, Tomas felt his stomach recoil at the idea and he sighed heavily.

"I think I just need sleep. Though I'm not sure if I'll manage any."

"Then let's get you into bed before you faceplant on the counter."

Marcus held out his hands and Tomas accepted the help, finding himself pulled to his feet and gently guided toward the nearest bed. Tomas noticed the covers had already been folded down and there was a bucket in place by the side table. He'd never been more thankful for small mercies. Marcus swept the covers up to Tomas' chin and turned down the lights.

"I'll wake you in two hours like the doctor ordered," he said.

Tomas caught his arm almost on instinct. He suddenly wasn't so sure he wanted to be left to his own inner demons.

"Problem?" Marcus asked.

"Could you…" Tomas sighed and let go his grip, feeling a little foolish.

"What is it, don't leave me in suspense."

"It's been a long day. There's so many thoughts, so much sadness running around in my mind… that I…" Tomas let the sentence run dry, not quite sure what he was asking.

"You want a distraction."

Tomas nodded sending the room spinning lazily around him for a moment. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his body to stillness. Marcus squeezed his shoulder gently, and Tomas found it grounded him enough to open his eyes.

"Yes, a distraction. Tell me a story. Something good. A childhood friend or… something…"

"Distracting and good, okay." Marcus seemed to think for a moment. Then he sat back on the second bed and started to spin his tale in a quiet voice that was not made for interruption.

Tomas slid deeper under the covers, closed his eyes and listened.

"You know about the church taking me in, so to speak. Well, I wasn't the only boy there. I'm not sure how we were chosen, but we all came from different orphanages, group homes and sad circumstances. But there was this one boy. He arrived sometime after me, which may account for why we fell into friendship as I was a bit of a loner, but I think maybe we each had an individual strangeness the other lads immediately steered clear of.

"He was maybe a year younger than me and a tiny slip of a kid. As if, whoever had raised him to the point of sale to the church had fed him only enough to keep him alive and no amount of food was going to make up for it. His name was Ben I think, but we called him Robin after the tiny birds that landed on our windowsills. He was light as a feather, the other kids teased, so Robin it was.

"Thing is, where I was all about staying out of trouble by that point - the group home and then Father Sean had moulded me into something compliant – it was as if Robin had no sense of preservation left whatsoever. He also had this wicked sense of humour. Where I'd learnt practical jokes as survival skills, he really found the humour in them and boy could he laugh. You'd hear that laugh bouncing off the stone and just know trouble was brewing. It was all I could do to keep him from getting himself killed, but in the process… well in the process we had some real fun."

Tomas cracked his eyelids a little. Marcus was leaning back still, one knee up and a rosary twisting carefully in his fingers. His eyes held a sparkle, his mouth quirked into a smile that Tomas knew too well and yet rarely saw.

"We both eventually passed the test and at that point we were untouchable in the eyes of the other boys.

"So, this one time, Robin somehow learnt that there'd been a batch of kids toys delivered to the buildings where we were living. You know how nice families will gather together toys to leave at an orphanage or whatever? Well, like that. But the Priest in charge saw them mainly as a distraction. He'd pulled out anything useful – pens and books and food – and the rest was left to gather dust in a back room until it could be disposed of. But he forgot about little old Robin.

"Robin shows up with these bubble blowers that he'd liberated from that bag. God only knows how he found out about the bag of goodies, let alone managed to sneak in to steal out of it, but however he did it, there he was. It was the middle of the night and he appeared at my bedside, grinning stupidly through crooked teeth and gesturing for me to come with him quietly. Of course, I went. I told myself I was keeping Robin safe as usual, but truthfully, I could never resist one of his pranks and I just had to know what this one was about.

"There was an exorcism scheduled that night. Robin took us on a chase through the old brick building, up into a room above the old dungeon of a place they kept the possessed chained up in. We're peering down through the grate at this poor possessed sod as he spits and curses and rattles the chains. And Robin pulls out a bottle of holy water and mixes it right into the bubble solution.

"Then he took one, handed me the other and leaned into the vent and blew and blew. The bubbles were something beautiful. I was mesmerised for a minute and then some of them started to land on the man below. The demon bellowed and cursed at us as we rained beautiful soapy holy water down on him. Each bubble landed with a sizzle and hiss. And as the bubbles rained down, we took it in turn to rain down an exorcism while we were at it. Bible verses flying from us in repetitious glory just as we'd been trained to do for years. It was the most beautifully crazy thing I'd ever seen or done and yet we kept going.

Bubbles and Christ's power and two stupid kids with too much knowledge and not enough fear."

Marcus paused and Tomas opened his eyes fully and this time openly stared up at Marcus.

"Did it work?"

Marcus laughed. "Yeah, it did," he said. He sniffed back a happy tear. "It bloody did. By the time the real priest arrived to perform the exorcism, there was nothing but a soap slick on the floor and a thankful man speaking haltingly about the beautiful bubbles raining down from heaven that saved him."

Tomas grinned to himself, unsure if the story were true or not, but finding he genuinely wanted to believe it was, which was all that mattered. "Thank you for the story," he murmured.

"Sleep Tomas," Marcus ordered. He stayed as he was, still contemplating the rosary in silence.

"Marcus?" 

"Hmm?"

"What happened to Robin?" Tomas whispered.

"That's a story for another time," came the quiet reply.

"Why is that?"

"It isn't a good one, I'm afraid."

"Marcus?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"Sleep Tomas."

And so, he did. Drifting off on a dream filled with the holiest of bubbles.


End file.
